


raw reactions

by yee_hawlw



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bottom Beauregard Lionett, F/F, Finger Sucking, Light Bondage, Mirror Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Top Yasha (Critical Role), lil bit of size kink, sorry mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28662786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yee_hawlw/pseuds/yee_hawlw
Summary: That evening, Yasha, straight-faced like she was about to tell Beau about the weather, leaned down to Beau and quietly told her that tonight, Yasha was going to tie her down and fuck her until she was crying, and then make her come again. The stipulation? Beau had to keep her eyes open the entire time.Beau was soaked all through dinner.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 9
Kudos: 206





	raw reactions

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first smut. beauyasha hornytimes
> 
> beta read by peggy on the beauyasha discord

"You're not looking, Beau."

Yasha's voice is a low rasp, a warm breath on Beau's skin. Beau sobs as Yasha pulls her fingers, dripping, from her cunt -- out of relief? From the loss of them? Beau isn't sure.

That evening, just as Caleb was finishing the mansion spell, Yasha, straight-faced like she was about to tell Beau about the weather, leaned down to Beau and quietly told her that tonight, Yasha was going to tie her down and fuck her until she was crying, and then make her come again. The stipulation? Beau had to keep her eyes open the entire time.

Beau was soaked all through dinner.

She's not even begun to come down from her fourth or fifth or honestly maybe even sixth orgasm yet (she's lost count) and she's crying, she's been crying -- wretched gasping sobs, boil-hot tears leaking down her cheeks -- because apparently when Yasha (terrible, amazing Yasha) said that she "was going to fuck her until she couldn't walk," that meant a relentless attack on her clit.

Tenderly stroking it hard for the first orgasm.

A merciless assault for the next three to five.

She's oversensitive, overstimulated, so much so that the displacement of air by Yasha moving her fingers away makes Beau whine. 

Yasha gnaws at the bone of her jaw. "Open your eyes, Beau. Or do you want to be done for tonight?"

_Gods, no._

Beau opens her eyes, and she--

They should really get Jester to paint them like this, because good Gods, does this image deserve to be immortalized. 

(And it will be, in Beau's brain.

Hopefully Yasha's too.)

Beau is laid out atop Yasha, hands tied in front of her, resting still on her abs. (She'd learned the hard way not to move them while being built up to orgasm two. Her ass still stings deliciously, pressed against Yasha.) Only one of her legs is tied to the bed, her right one held down by Yasha's own wrapped around it.

The way Beau is laid out like this, atop of Yasha, really accentuates how much smaller Beau is than Yasha. Beau knows that they both like it, both get off on it, the fact that Yasha is just shy of touching her fingertips together when wrapping her hands around Beau's waist, that Yasha can snap her in half like a stick. Beau's ass is fitted to Yasha's pelvis, and there's no point in Beau's outline where she can't see at least an inch or two of porcelain-white skin peeking out beneath. Yasha's large hand has one of Beau's tits palmed, rough, sword-wielding callouses brushing against her nipple with every gasping breath.

Beau's gaze trails down from her chest to her cunt. Her thighs are a mess, covered in slick and sweat and a bit of Beau's own spit, used as lubricant (despite the array of bottles of expensive oils they have at their disposal). Her clit is a dark, angry wine-red, fully exposed from its hood and thoroughly abused from many painfully delicious orgasms. She aches for Yasha's fingers back on her clit already.

Instead, Yasha's fingers -- two of them -- probe at her mouth, painting her lips with her own slick. Beau accepts them eagerly, sucking at them between hiccuping breaths.

Yasha pushes her fingers a little more insistently into Beau's mouth, forcing her jaw open wider. She pets her fingertips along the blunt tops of Beau's molars. Beau shivers.

"Good girl, Beau," Yasha rasps.

Beau whines at the words. She clenches uselessly around nothing, bucking against air.

Yasha has Beau suck the taste of her own cunt (salty, a bit sour) off her fingers for a while longer, just until Beau stops hyperventilating. Yasha pulls her fingers from Beau's mouth, breaks the string of drool between them. She wipes the leftover slick and drool from her lips, the warm tears from her cheeks. It really only serves to get her messy, but, well, they both get off on it.

Her being a mess.

Wiping the last of Beau's drool on the sheets, Yasha reaches over to the bedside table and grabs the flask (forever cold here in the tower) from it. Yasha usually stops them for a water break every one or two orgasms, but Beau always gulps down the offered water greedily.

(Honestly, she probably just doesn’t drink enough during the day, but.)

Yasha takes a drink as well, then sets the flask aside. She swipes a droplet of water from Beau’s jaw with a pale, calloused thumb.

She presses a tender kiss to the side of Beau’s head. Her warm breaths ruffle the baby hairs growing there. “Good to continue?” she asks.

Her cunt is aching. She won’t be able to wear underwear for days, or risk rubbing herself even rawer. If Yasha even ghosts her fingers over Beau’s clit, she’s sure she’ll explode into stardust. Yasha will have to wear her like glitter in her hair for the rest of eternity, impossible to get out.

“Oh Gods, please, Yasha, _please_ ,” Beau babbles. She tries to pull her legs together in an attempt to seek out some friction, any friction, but she gets nowhere. The rope gives more than Yasha's leg overlaid on hers. "Please, please, I want--"

Yasha's fingers brush over her abused clit, then, and she _does_ explode.

Well, nearly. Sure feels like it.

Beau _wails_. Her thighs clench and and she thrusts up, shies away, twitches closer. Her hips can't decide. Her mind is mush -- she can't decide either. 

Yasha decides for her. Her hand leaves Beau's cunt for just a moment to lay flat on Beau's abdomen (fingertip to thumb-tip, her hand, laid horizontally across Beau's abdomen, is just shy of reaching _both_ of Beau's flanks, good _Ioun_ Beau needs those fingers in her cunt three orgasms ago) and press her back down.

"Shhh," Yasha soothes. Her hand returns to Beau's abused clit, circling it with two fingers, gentle and slow. 

(It's agony.

But Beau’s body has long ago learned to find the oh-so delicious pleasure in the pain.)

"Be a good girl for me," Yasha says. She slowly ghosts a fingertip down the length of Beau's clit, rolls her thumb over the tip of it. Beau sobs. 

(She's too sensitive.

It feels too _good_.)

"Keep looking."

Beau does. She looks, for a moment, at herself in the mirror, meets her own red-rimmed reflection. Looks at herself gasping and choking, the fresh hot tears streaming down her face. Yasha steals her gaze then, holding it steadfast as she nudges Beau's loose hair out of the way. She drags her teeth (slightly sharper than Beau's own, inhumanly large) down the column of Beau's neck, and bites _down_ on her pulse.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Beau gasps, ragged and broken. Involuntarily, her eyes slam shut, her tied hands reach up and grab Yasha’s hair, vice-grip, and --

\-- She’s so _close_ , she’s so fucking close, she’s going to die and the revivication isn’t gonna work because of how _thoroughly_ Yasha has ripped her very soul to pieces,

Yasha’s fingers still.

Beau’s orgasm immediately halts, kept on the edge by a single thread. She opens her eyes and she sobs, a singular cry that feels like all the air has been pulled from her chest cavity like a blow to the ribs, and tries desperately to push her hips up into Yasha’s hand. Yasha pulls away before she can find friction.

“No no no, Yasha, please, 'm--”

Yasha nips at her neck, silencing her. “Beau,” she says. Beau moans. “I told you about your hands. Or do I have to remind you?”

Beau wiggles against Yasha. The last of her “reminders” still sting on the skin of her ass. Stubbornly, as a bit of payback for ruining her orgasm, she tightens her hands in Yasha’s thick mess of hair.

_Make me._

Yasha growls. Beau can feel the press of her wolfish grin against the bruises forming on her neck. "You're going to regret that, you brat," Yasha says, voice low and dangerous, like a storm rolling in. 

Beau attempts to pull her leg out from under Yasha's, tries to roll over to finish her orgasm rutting against her thigh like she's done (like Yasha's had her do) so many times before--

A hand comes down _heavy_ (though nowhere near Yasha's full strength, she is acutely aware), open-palmed, on Beau's clit. The sound is obscene, wet skin impacting wet skin.

Beau cries out. She recoils, even as the pain quickly turns to pleasure as the sensation travels along her nerves. Reactively, Beau tries to curl up, but Yasha's hand splayed just below her chest roots her in places.

Immediately she's right back to the edge.

"Brat," Yasha says again, punctuated by another harsh slap right to her clit that makes Beau twist and _wail_.

"Behave." Yasha pulls back for another slap,

(Oh please oh please oh please)

and delivers the harshest of the three, and obviously the one that sends Beau over the edge.

She gasps a wretched, wrecked noise, all the air pulled out of her and trying to get it all back in, trashing and whing. 

Her vision blurs with celestial-white and floats there a moment.

She comes down shaking in Yasha's arms and staring into her own eyes.

Beau finds Yasha's two colored gaze next, pupils blown and adoring. She's still gasping, trying to relearn how to breath mortal air.

"Good girl, Beau," Yasha says, running her large hand down Beau's heaving chest. "My good girl."

"Yours," Beau rasps.

Yasha pauses as Beau recovers from having her soul slapped out of her. (Can Yasha punch ghosts too?) She says, "Want another one?"

Beau laughs, breathless. "You haven't even come yet."

Yasha shrugs. She kisses the dip of Beau's neck. "I'm more than okay, Beau."

Remember what Beau said about being about to wear underwear for days? Scratch that, make that weeks.

"Gods, yes, yes, please," Beau says. "You're going to kill me."

Beau feels the smile against her neck, sees it in the mirror. "Hopefully it will be worth it, yeah?"

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr here [**@yee-hawlw**](https://yee-hawlw.tumblr.com/) ****
> 
> comments mean the world to me!!


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